Mendhi
by Michelle Birkby
Summary: Based on spoilers for a season 8 episode, Threads...I'm not sure I can really explain this story
1. Default Chapter

Author's notes; Mendhi are non-permanent henna tattoos. In Indian culture, it is used in weddings. The bride is painted in wonderful henna designs as she prepares for her wedding. However, I also got a tiny mendhi design on my hand at a jazz festival this weekend, and this, and the spoilers I've read, inspired this.  
  
Spoilers; unseen season eight episodes, and before  
  
NOW  
  
He traced the delicate line of the mendhi on her hand. The fine henna tracery, dark against the paleness of her hand. The softness, enhanced by the pattern. One fingertip, stroking softly against the hairs, following the line across the back of her hand, raising goosebumps along her back. He concentrated, frowning a little, careful not to let his hand slip away, down her arm, to her cheek, to her hair, wanting only the pattern, the perfection, in this one second.  
  
ONE MONTH EARLIER.  
  
"Jack."  
  
Jack looked up, surprised, and Daniel frowned, just a little. Jack looked older, tired, his face shadowed by the single lamp. He should have gone home hours ago, but there was still paperwork on his desk, and still a pen in Jack's hand. Daniel was suddenly struck by how alone he looked, so silent, there in his high office, and he hated himself for what he was about to tell him.  
  
"What?" Jack asked, not standing, nor moving, nor even putting his pen down.  
  
"Sam's on her way up here. She wanted to be the first to tell you...she didn't want you to here it from anybody else, but I thought you should be forewarned. Jack..."  
  
"She's engaged to Pete." Jack said, softly, replacing the cap on the pen, and putting it down.  
  
"You knew?" Daniel said, surprised.  
  
"No." Jack said. "I just guessed. You've got a very expressive face, Daniel." His eyes were hidden in darkness, and Daniel couldn't see his friend's expression.  
  
"Sorry." Daniel said, wincing. He wished his friend was as dumb as he liked to act. He wished Jack wasn't as intelligent and sensitive and honourable as Daniel knew he could be. He wished he was the stupid jackass Daniel had once thought him, then maybe this wouldn't have hurt him so much.  
  
But then he would never have been Daniel's friend, and Daniel needed his friendship.  
  
"She's coming here?" Jack asked. Daniel nodded, his hand on the door-jamb, tapping it slightly, beating out his frustration at not being able to save Jack, as Jack had saved him. "You'd better go. She'll be pissed if she guesses you told me first." Daniel nodded, and turned to go.  
  
"Danny?" Jack called. Daniel turned. "Thanks.". Daniel nodded.  
  
Jack was grateful. Grateful he had that moment to hide himself, to swallow the pain. He'd known this was coming, but still, it hurt. A kick in the stomach that sucked away all his breath, a sudden, sharp bleakness. There was nothing anymore. No Sam. No love. Nothing.  
  
But at least Daniel had given him a moment. So when Carter came to the door, and told him she'd tell him officially tomorrow, but she wanted him to know now before he heard from anyone else, he was able to act happy. To smile, and tell her it was ok, and Pete was a good guy, and it would all be okay, and never let her know how much it tore him apart inside.  
  
NOW  
  
He was fascinated by the swirls. The two lines sweeping around one another, coming closer, almost touching, then springing apart again. He ran his finger round and round, waiting for the two lines to intertwine, as they inevitably must, but never did. Like him and her.  
  
THREE WEEKS AGO  
  
He hadn't meant to ask her out. But she was pretty and funny, very funny in fact. She was clever, something he'd always found attractive. She got his jokes. She was nice, and even he could see she was interested. (ok, she'd told Daniel, who'd told him.).  
  
She was perfect. But she wasn't Sam. And even though Sam was engaged, and even more beyond his reach then at any time during the eight years he'd known her (and the five years he'd known he loved her), it felt disloyal to be thinking of another woman. He'd had no other woman in his mind since Laira, and even that had been on another planet, convinced he'd never get home again. Even he had couldn't have Sam in reality, he belonged to her in his head.  
  
But Sam was engaged. And he was fine with that, really fine. Totally fine. She was happy, and that was good. And just to prove how fine he was, he should ask out another woman. Just to prove that he had a life, and he wasn't devastated by losing her...not that he had ever had her, not really. Except as a friend, and companion, and the closest bond he'd ever had with a woman, and a support, and the best second in command.  
  
So to prove he was ok, he turned to Kerry, and asked her if she fancied a drink.  
  
Much to his surprise, she said yes. 


	2. chapter 2

NOW  
  
This was new. She was new. She was different. He leaned a little closer, and kissed the mendhi, delicately, so soft she can barely feel it, feel his lips on the flower below her knuckle, but it's enough to make her sigh, and arch her back, and wonder how she'd held out until now.  
  
TWO WEEKS AGO  
  
"I bought it." Pete announced, proudly, standing in front of the little house with the white picket fence (white picket fence? Where was she, cliché land?)  
  
"You did?" she asked, swallowing.  
  
"Yeah. Come in, have a look. It's all ours." Pete said, opening the gate, and bounding up in the path, in his excited little boy way, that she found so adorable. She paused at the gate, unsure for a moment, then followed him so slowly.  
  
"See? I know it's small, but so cute. And look, isn't the kitchen great? All the fittings. And the curtains and carpets come with them, but we can change them if you like. Do you like?" he asked, leading her from room to room. He was so eager, but so anxious she should like it, and approve, approve of the house and him. She smiled, gently. The house was cute. And adorable. Little garden. Stained glass around the front door. A kitchen that while small, was practical. It even had gingham curtains. The bedroom was airy, and had a window that overlooked the back garden, and a cherry tree in full blossom. It was everything she'd ever dreamed of coming to, as a bride.  
  
She hated it.  
  
This wasn't her. She wasn't gingham curtains and white picket fences. She'd thought she was, but now she actually had them, she hated them.  
  
But Pete was so excited. And she was marrying him. He'd made huge changes for her. So she could learn to like cherry trees outside her window, and a practical little kitchen.  
  
"I love it." she said, and he kissed her delightedly. And when she closed her eyes to kiss him, she forgot the house, and just thought of the man she was kissing.  
  
NOW  
  
If she'd known the effect the mendhi would have, she'd have had it painted all up her arm, towards her lips. He was kissing her hand, a subtle little kiss for every twist in the pattern, and it was driving her crazy. He glanced up at her, grinning wickedly, knowing the effect he was having, then stroking the mendhi pattern once more, he began, finally, to kiss her way up her arm, pushing aside the sheet as he did so. She watched him, fascinated.  
  
ONE WEEK AGO  
  
So, ok, this wasn't too bad. He'd had worse dates. Ok, he hadn't had a date in a very long time, but he could still remember how awkward and disappointing they could be. But this was his third date with Kerry, and he was enjoying it. They were at a jazz festival, an open air one, and it was thronged with people. Around the ages of the park, there were stalls, selling food and silver jewellery. There was a bar, and kids play area, and everyone seemed happy and relaxed. It was kind of hippy, reminiscent of 1969 even, and he liked that. Kerry was wickedly witty, and knowledgeable, and loved jazz, so she was happy. And they'd finally got the first kiss over with on their previous date, when she had grabbed him and pulled him down into a kiss, claiming afterwards if she hadn't done, he'd have never got round to it. 'There's such a thing as being too much of a gentleman, Jack'. she'd said. The kiss wasn't fantastic, not all fireworks and passion and love and gentleness, but it was good. And if only he could shove away the memory of kissing Sam in a dark little corner somewhere, he could live with kisses like that. So, basically, right now, he was happy, and he wasn't thinking of Sam, and he was thinking, ok, I could live with this, this isn't too bad.  
  
Until he saw her.   
  
Kerry had seen a mendhi stall, and insisted on going over, to get herself a henna tattoo. And standing in front of the stall, her hand held out, getting an intricate little pattern painted on the back of her hand, was Sam.  
  
He always forgot just how breath-takingly beautiful she was. When he saw her unawares, without time to prepare, she always took his breath away. And then she would turn, and smile at him, and he would make her laugh, and he would feel warm inside for the rest of the day.   
  
Except now, she was turning away and smiling at Pete. And he was the one looking like his life had just been warmed. And once again, Jack was kicked in the stomach.  
  
"Sir!" she said, quickly, turning around and seeing him. Damn, he couldn't run away now. Besides, Kerry was holding her hand out to the mendhi artist, and he couldn't turn and run and leave her.  
  
"Carter." He said, dredging up a smile from somewhere. "Whatcha doing?"  
  
"Getting mendhi." She said, smiling awkwardly, holding out her hand for him to inspect. It was painted with a thick black paste, in an intricate pattern.  
  
"It turns dry, then drops off, and you're left with a kind of brown tattoo." Pete said, leaning over and looking at her hand. He had his pants leg rolled up, and was having one painted on his ankle. "Groovy baby." He joked, making the peace sign, then turned his attention back to his artist.  
  
"What are you doing here? I wouldn't have thought this was your kind of thing." She said, gesturing at the huge soap bubbles some children were blowing across the path. He shrugged.  
  
God, he loved her. He ached for her inside. He hadn't forgotten her, all the time he'd been with Kerry. He thought he had. Thought he was coping, but he was barely surviving without her. She was all his love, all his heart, all his life.  
  
And all he could do now was let her go. So, thinking he was doing her a kindness, proving she hadn't destroyed his life, he said,  
  
"I'm here on a date. With Kerry." He gestured to the woman standing behind Sam, getting her hand painted. Kerry turned and waved slightly.  
  
Sam went white. A harsh white, sharp against the black of the mendhi. She didn't say anything. She couldn't. She didn't congratulate him, or say hito his date. She glanced once back at Kerry, then back up to him, and her blue eyes were huge, and pained. She swayed.  
  
"Carter?" Jack asked, worried. He reached out a hand to her, but Pete grabbed her first.  
  
"I told you to drink more, and wear a hat. You're getting a heat stroke." Pete said, tenderly remonstrating. Sam shrugged him off, and walked away. Muttering something about needing some water.  
  
He watched her go, stricken. He didn't even notice Kerry look at him. 


	3. chapter 3

NOW  
  
He held up her hand for a moment, looking once more at the graceful design on her hand. Then, with the reverence of a man finally allowed to worship at the feet of his goddess, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.  
  
TWO HOURS AGO  
  
She rang the doorbell, over and over again. Then she hammered on his door. She knew he was there. He had to come out. He had to let her in.  
  
And when Jack O'Neill did open his door, he found Sam Carter standing there, in tears, her face red and swollen.  
  
"I didn't want you to let me go!" she sobbed.  
  
"Come here." He said, softly, pulling her into his house, and into his arms. He had no idea what she was talking about, but she was crying, and upset, and all he could do when she was like that was hold her, however inappropriate that was.  
  
She let herself be held for a second, still sobbing, then pulled away.  
  
"I need a tissue." She mumbled. He looked around, knowing he had none, then went to the bathroom, and came back with a wad of toilet paper. He handed it to her, anxiously.  
  
She smiled at it, but took it, and blew her nose noisily.  
  
"Sorry." She said, her voice cracking. "I soaked your shirt."  
  
"Yeah, well, it needed a wash." He said, trying to raise a laugh, standing there, unsure of what to do next. Should he hold her again? Lead her into the living room, and sit her down? Leave her to stand there? Ask her what was wrong?  
  
"I hated the house." She said, walking into the living room.  
  
"My house?" he asked, confused, following her.  
  
"No. I love your house." She said, choking a little, still crying a little. "The house Pete bought."  
  
"Oh." He said. He wanted to say, 'good, I'm glad', or say 'I'm sorry', but he had no idea what she wanted to hear.  
  
"I wanted a life." She said. She still had her back to him. "I thought I knew what life I wanted. And Pete was going to give it to me."  
  
"Everyone deserves their perfect life." He said, sadly. She turned to look at him. Her face was still tear-stained. Her clothes were haphazard, thrown on in a hurry. Her hair was unwashed, she wore no make-up.  
  
He thought she had never looked lovelier.  
  
"But not everyone knows what their perfect life is." She said, softly. "I thought I did. But once I had it, I knew it wasn't right. It wasn't me."  
  
"You and Pete..."  
  
"We've broken up."  
  
"Sorry." He said, and he surprised himself by meaning it. He was sorry she should be hurt.  
  
"I'm not." She said, and he saw she was smiling. A soft, certain smile.  
  
"Kerry broke up with me." he said, trying to commiserate.  
  
"Why?" she asked. She took a step forward, towards him.  
  
"Oh, you know, stuff..." he lied. She touched him, very gently, on his arm.  
  
"You're always trying to tell me what I want to hear." She said. "Please, I just want to know...don't brush me off. Tell me something." She said, intensely.  
  
He made a decision.  
  
"She said I still loved you."  
  
"You love me?" she asked, breathlessly, her eyes suddenly bright.  
  
"You don't know?" Jack asked, incredulously. She shook her head, clutching his arm.  
  
"I love you." He said simply. She let go of his arm, and turned away. He grimaced, aware he'd made the wrong move. He should have denied it, quoted regs, done anything rather than put her in the untenable position of being loved by her commanding officer, by a man she shouldn't care for, couldn't love.   
  
"I thought I could do without you." Sam said, still with her back to him. "But then I saw you with her. And I hated her, and something changed. I finally learnt something. "  
  
She turned to look at him.  
  
"These tears," she said, gesturing to her face. "They aren't because of Pete. That was the best decision. I'm crying because of you."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"I thought I'd lost you. To her."  
  
"You can't ever lose me." he said, softly, without thinking.  
  
"I want more than that." She said, firmly, walking towards him. "I don't just want to never lose you. I want to have you. I want to be with you. I want you." She stopped, and ran her hand, the one with the mendhi design on it, across his cheek. "I love you." She said, softly.  
  
He thought he should argue. He thought he should point out the difficulties, and reasons why they shouldn't do this. He thought she was mistaken, on the rebound.  
  
He thought all this. But all he did was lean down, and pull her into a kiss.  
  
NOW  
  
They lay together in the afterglow, naked under the white sheet, still intertwined and curled up in each other, like the design on her hand. He held it up, looking at the pattern.  
  
"How long does this last?" he asked.  
  
"The tattoo, or us?" she asked lazily.  
  
"Both." He said, suddenly tense.  
  
"The mendhi lasts about a month. Us..." she caressed his cheek, turning his face back to her, so she could kiss him. "This will last forever."  
  
THE END 


End file.
